Short Fiction Nikolai Gogol (bill gates books recommendations TXT) đ
- Author: Nikolai Gogol
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âWhy the deuce wonât you go in, you worthless scoundrel!â he exclaimed.
Akaki saw at once that he had come at an inopportune moment. He wished he had found Petrovitch at a more favourable time, when he was enjoying himselfâ âwhen, as his wife expressed it, he was having a substantial ration of brandy. At such times the tailor was extraordinarily ready to meet his customerâs proposals with bows and gratitude to boot. Sometimes indeed his wife interfered in the transaction, and declared that he was drunk and promised to do the work at much too low a price; but if the customer paid a trifle more, the matter was settled.
Unfortunately for the titular councillor, Petrovitch had just now not yet touched the brandy flask. At such moments he was hard, obstinate, and ready to demand an exorbitant price.
Akaki foresaw this danger, and would gladly have turned back again, but it was already too late. The tailorâs single eyeâ âfor he was one-eyedâ âhad already noticed him, and Akaki Akakievitch murmured involuntarily âGood day, Petrovitch.â
âWelcome, sir,â answered the tailor, and fastened his glance on the titular councillorâs hand to see what he had in it.
âI come justâ âmerelyâ âin orderâ âI wantâ ââ
We must here remark that the modest titular councillor was in the habit of expressing his thoughts only by prepositions, adverbs, or particles, which never yielded a distinct meaning. If the matter of which he spoke was a difficult one, he could never finish the sentence he had begun. So that when transacting business, he generally entangled himself in the formula âYesâ âit is indeed true thatâ ââ Then he would remain standing and forget what he wished to say, or believe that he had said it.
âWhat do you want, sir?â asked Petrovitch, scrutinising him from top to toe with a searching look, and contemplating his collar, sleeves, coat, buttonsâ âin short his whole uniform, although he knew them all very well, having made them himself. That is the way of tailors whenever they meet an acquaintance.
Then Akaki answered, stammering as usual, âI wantâ âPetrovitchâ âthis cloakâ âyou seeâ âit is still quite good, only a little dustyâ âand therefore it looks a little old. It is, however, still quite new, only that it is worn a littleâ âthere in the back and here in the shoulderâ âand there are three quite little splits. You see it is hardly worth talking about; it can be thoroughly repaired in a few minutes.â
Petrovitch took the unfortunate cloak, spread it on the table, contemplated it in silence, and shook his head. Then he stretched his hand towards the windowsill for his snuffbox, a round one with the portrait of a general on the lid. I do not know whose portrait it was, for it had been accidentally injured, and the ingenious tailor had gummed a piece of paper over it.
After Petrovitch had taken a pinch of snuff, he examined the cloak again, held it to the light, and once more shook his head. Then he examined the lining, took a second pinch of snuff, and at last exclaimed, âNo! that is a wretched rag! It is beyond repair!â
At these words Akakiâs courage fell.
âWhat!â he cried in the querulous tone of a child. âCan this hole really not be repaired? Look! Petrovitch; there are only two rents, and you have enough pieces of cloth to mend them with.â
âYes, I have enough pieces of cloth; but how should I sew them on? The stuff is quite worn out; it wonât bear another stitch.â
âWell, canât you strengthen it with another piece of cloth?â
âNo, it wonât bear anything more; cloth after all is only cloth, and in its present condition a gust of wind might blow the wretched mantle into tatters.â
âBut if you could only make it last a little longer, do you seeâ âreallyâ ââ
âNo!â answered Petrovitch decidedly. âThere is nothing more to be done with it; it is completely worn out. It would be better if you made yourself foot bandages out of it for the winter; they are warmer than stockings. It was the Germans who invented stockings for their own profit.â Petrovitch never lost an opportunity of having a hit at the Germans. âYou must certainly buy a new cloak,â he added.
âA new cloak?â exclaimed Akaki Akakievitch, and it grew dark before his eyes. The tailorâs workroom seemed to go round with him, and the only object he could clearly distinguish was the paper-patched generalâs portrait on the tailorâs snuffbox. âA new cloak!â he murmured, as though half asleep. âBut I have no money.â
âYes, a new cloak,â repeated Petrovitch with cruel calmness.
âWell, even if I did decide on itâ âhow muchâ ââ
âYou mean how much would it cost?â
âYes.â
âAbout a hundred and fifty roubles,â answered the tailor, pursing his lips. This diabolical tailor took a special pleasure in embarrassing his customers and watching the expression of their faces with his squinting single eye.
âA hundred and fifty roubles for a cloak!â exclaimed Akaki Akakievitch in a tone which sounded like an outcryâ âpossibly the first he had uttered since his birth.
âYes,â replied Petrovitch. âAnd then the marten-fur collar and silk lining for the hood would make it up to two hundred roubles.â
âPetrovitch, I adjure you!â said Akaki Akakievitch in an imploring tone, no longer hearing nor wishing to hear the tailorâs words, âtry to make this cloak last me a little longer.â
âNo, it would be a useless waste of time and work.â
After this answer, Akaki departed, feeling quite crushed; while Petrovitch, with his lips firmly pursed up, feeling pleased
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